Freed’s voice came over the radio. “Marauder 225 Yankee, this is the Agent in Charge of the Buffalo FBI office, do you copy?”
“Roger, AIC.”
“Your records show you have no flying experience, you’re not a licensed pilot, is that correct?”
“Roger on the license, negative on the experience. I have about forty minutes of stick time.”
“Ten-four, we have you in sight, we’re taking up position on your port side.”
Divido raised his head and looked out the window. “What a beautiful helicopter, there must be five people in that thing, and man do they look mad. They must know you.”
“You’re much funnier after you’ve been shot.”
“MARAUDER 225 YANKEE, THIS IS BUFFALO APPROACH. ADJUST HEADING 023 AND HOLD COURSE. TRAFFIC IS CLEARED. WE ARE ADVISED OF YOUR EXPERIENCE DO YOU REQUIRE PILOTING INSTRUCTIONS OVER THE RADIO?”
Mitchelli looked at Divido who gave him one thumb up. “Negative, Buffalo Approach. The pilot on board will advise. Request an ambulance to transport pilot to ECMC stat for trauma wound, please confirm?”
“ROGER, MARAUDER 225 YANKEE. AMBULANCE WILL MEET YOU ON THE TARMAC.”
The plane made a slow course correction to heading 023, which aligned the plane directly with the runway. Mitchelli rocked the wings slowly, reassuring himself he had control of the plane. As he flew, Divido repeated landing instructions to him. Mitchelli had a very good understanding of the principles of flight. He had constructed and flown several remote control planes. Still, he had no experience flying a full-scale airplane.
“Ok, remember: as long as the nose of the plane is pointed slightly down towards the end of the runway, it will not stall. Your glide slope is good, pull the throttle out, we need a little more airspeed.”
“Why?” Mitchelli pulled the throttle increasing the plane’s speed.
“Because we need to add another ten degrees of flaps, pull the flap lever until it locks into place.”
Mitchelli reached for the lever between the seats above their heads adding ten degrees of flap, and the lever locked into place. “Wow,” he said as the nose of the plane raised abruptly. “I forgot the flaps make the elevator more sensitive. Len, I think I got it from here, but where the hell are the brakes?”
“The rudder pedals pivot. Arch your feet and push your toes forward. The pedals will pivot forward on their mounts.” Mitchelli rehearsed working the pedals as he was instructed, “Remember, there’s seven thousand feet of runway. This plane needs about five hundred. Don’t be in a hurry to stop, apply the brakes gently, gently.”
“Seven thousand feet, it looks like I’m landing on a postage stamp.” Mitchelli quickly glanced at Divido. “You probably regret helping me, but thanks for coming with me. You hang in there, ok? We’re almost on the ground.”
“No, I don’t regret it. I’ve been shot, lost the use of my left hand along with several pints of blood and now I’m counting on my crazy friend who is not a pilot to land this plane.”
“Well, thanks for the burst of confidence.”
“You can take it, now ace this landing and get me into that ambulance. Focus and make this bitch kiss that runway.” The plane flew over yellow stripes, which identified the runway threshold. Mitchelli eased up on the throttle and raised the nose. “Easy, not too fast, great job with the rudder.” Mitchelli relaxed the elevator and the nose dropped. The plane floated about ten feet above the runway. “Ok, gently raise the nose. NOT TOO MUCH!”
Mitchelli eased the stick back and the plane gradually dropped. The main gear touched first with a thud and rumble. Mitchelli immediately cut the throttle and the nose wheel settled to the runway. The plane gradually slowed down as Mitchelli applied the brakes and steered the plane off the runway to the ambulance waiting at Martin Aircraft. As Mitchelli applied the parking brake, the Sheriff’s helicopter landed several hundred feet from the Cessna. Mr. Martin came out himself to place the wheel chocks.
“MARAUDER 225 YANKEE, THIS IS BUFFALO CONTROL TOWER, JOB WELL DONE, REPEAT WELL DONE. THE CONTROLLERS UP HERE CAN BREATHE AGAIN.”
Mitchelli responded, “Buffalo Control Tower, I had a great instructor onboard, and Buffalo Control cleared the airspace. The crew of Marauder 225 Yankee thanks you, over and out.”
The first responders removed Divido from the plane. Mitchelli stood at his friend’s side the entire time. Freed and MacJames watched from a short distance. Freed’s face was red; he was visibly angered. MacJames was pale, worried about Mitchelli and his friend. The responders rolled the gurney to the rear of the ambulance and the wheels collapsed under the gurney as it was pushed inside. Mitchelli stooped as he stepped into the ambulance. MacJames and Freed stood by the ambulance rear doors. The paramedic who was filling out paperwork briefed MacJames on Divido’s condition.
Divido raised his arms abruptly and started screaming Mitchelli’s name, “Peter, get over here! I’m not leaving until I talk to you!” The first responders waived Mitchelli over from his bench seat opposite Divido. Freed and MacJames leaned into the ambulance to listen to Divido. They thought he could be dying. Divido pulled Mitchelli’s shirt so he was close to him. “Peter, they tell me I’ll be ok. I don’t want you to worry you got enough on your mind. I’ve had my pilot’s license for twenty years, and this was the best flight of my life. I had more fun buzzing over those treetops with my best friend clicking away on his camera like a machine gun. It was an adventure. I’m in bed by nine, drive a minivan to and from work, and get excited when they have pie for dessert in the cafeteria. Today I stole a plane, bumped eight jetliners on the takeoff ramp, I flew lower and faster than I could’ve ever imagined. I got shot flying a plane and will live.” Divido gently slapped Mitchelli’s face. “I’m going to dream about this day the rest of my life and smile.”
“Len, we have to get you to the hospital.” Mitchelli worried his friend was delirious.
Divido yelled in a raspy voice, “You’re not going to the hospital.”
“I’m going with you. I’m responsible for you getting hurt, it’s my fault.”
“Hey can you get these guys? You know, the hicks who shot me?”
“I don’t know, maybe if I live long enough.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it. You’ve always had a dark side to your personality. Some of your friends thought you were twisted, maybe evil. For over ten years your family has called me trying to find out where you were in the middle of the night. I never pushed you for an answer; it was none of my business. I heard frightening rumors from people I’d never trust. Believe me, in the back of my mind when I read about thugs savagely murdered in newspaper articles I worried about my friend, the gun nut. Now I wonder if the horrific rumors about my friend were true. For your family’s sake, and my revenge, I hope they’re true, every wicked one of them.”
Divido’s eyes winced as he yelled, “Get the hell off this damn ambulance!” He grabbed Mitchelli’s shirt and pulled him closer. “One thing can complete this perfect day, get your head screwed on straight and get them Peter, get them!”
Mitchelli said, “We found them; I couldn’t have done it without you.” Freed’s mouth opened in shock and his eyes bulged.
Divido yelled, “Don’t let any of these bastard bureaucrats stop you! No rules for you; shoot ‘em up.”
Mitchelli smiled. “Ok, Len, no rules. We’ll do it your way.”
“Bullshit, you do it your way, the only way you know how to get things done.” Divido shut his eyes and then attempted to reach for his wallet in his rear pocket, “Do you want me to pay for half the plane rental?” Mitchelli smiled as he left the ambulance.
Mitchelli turned and looked at MacJames. Their eyes locked and they resisted the urge to embrace, their trust severely damaged. Freed was furious; his civilian operative had gone rogue. Mitchelli stood by MacJames while Freed yelled at him.
Ignoring Freed, Mitchelli told MacJames, “I’m on my own for awhile.” He turned to Freed who had for the moment stopp
ed yelling. “Bob, there’s a bullet lodged in Leonard Divido’s arm, possibly more in the bottom of the plane. You may want to send an agent to the hospital to seize the bullet for evidence.”
“You arrogant bastard, don’t tell me what to do. I want your flight plan; I want to know where you were in that stolen plane when your friend got shot.”
Mitchelli shook his head. “Not a chance.”
Freed’s face turned a deep red as he screamed at Mitchelli. “I’ll throw the book at you and your little friend!”
“Let it go,” Mitchelli said calmly.
“You’re a god damn renegade! You’re out of control, way out of line, and I’ve had it! I should let the Sheriff book you right now for stealing that plane!”
Mr. Martin had been eavesdropping and just then, he wandered over next to Freed. “Oh there must be a misunderstanding. Mr. Mitchelli didn’t steal the plane.” Martin was pleased his plane was back in one piece. Mitchelli’s cash could be seen hanging out his shirt pocket. Martin feared the wrath of the Italian developer more than the federal government. The government didn’t pay cash. “My sugar makes me dizzy, ask my wife. I’m old and get confused.”
Freed looked like he might explode. “What did he tell you to change your mind?”
“I’m not going to file charges against this good religious boy, no sir. He’s a good boy, religious! I know these things.” Martin stood in front of Mitchelli and winked. “Religious boys always return a favor; it’s written in the Old Testament.” Martin walked away repeating, “He keeps a promise, that’s boy’s got religion.”
“When I’m ready, I’ll let you know where we were. I’ll send you the damn coordinates, and prep the site for you. You’re not getting one bit of information until I’m ready, nothing! I’m offline, totally of the grid, on my own.”
Coarseni whispered to Buckala, “Man he’s got balls, dumb as a doorknob, but he’s got frickin’ bowling balls hanging between his legs.”
“Roberto’s going to freak out,” Buckala quietly replied.
“No frickin’ way,” Freed growled. “You think you’re king. I want a report within an hour and I’ll remind you of the basic rules of police reports, where, when, what, why. ”
“Is that what your report states on your FBI mole? You tell me you have the mole in custody. Tell me you’re at least close, on his tail.” Freed looked away towards Buckala and Coarseni. They watched the argument and knew enough to stay out of the line of fire. Mitchelli smiled. “I can tell by your lack of response and your glassy eyes that you haven’t got a clue who the mole is.”
“Doesn’t make a difference, I want to know where you were.”
“Ease up!”
“That’s it,” Freed said defiantly. “Cuff him, Dom. I’m locking you up for obstruction of justice.” Coarseni did not move.
“No Bob!” MacJames finally spoke.
“It doesn’t make a difference to you because it’s not your family at stake,” Mitchelli said. “You’re just worried about your pension.”
Freed lunged for Mitchelli, pulling his handcuffs from his belt and attempting to cuff him. Freed drove his forearm into Mitchelli’s face. Buckala attempted to intercept Freed, but failed.
“You selfish bastard,” Freed screamed. “We put our careers on the line for you when we planted the brother-in-law at Handly’s house! We broke all the rules for you; it pushed Handly over the edge, we did it for you, not for our damn pensions.” Mitchelli pushed Freed away. Freed launched into another tirade yelling at Mitchelli. “You’re hiding behind skirt!”
Mitchelli grabbed Freed under the arms, lifting him straight off the ground and thrusted him against the Martin Aviation window. He held Freed against the glass. Mr. Martin counted his cash, pretending not to watch the fight from his window, thankful he decided not to press charges.
Buckala pulled on Mitchelli’s arm. “He’s not worth it, Peter. Ease up, partner, put him down.”
Coarseni snickered. “Now you’ve done it, Bob! You drove Mitchelli freakazoid. Haven’t you learned, don’t make him mad! Next Stuart’s assistant Molly’s going to call.”
“Shut up, Dom!” MacJames placed her hand on the back of Mitchelli’s as she looked into his dark eyes. “Peter this is not how professionals behave. Put Bob down. Remember our discussion after the Hoss incident?” Mitchelli turned away from Freed to look at her. “You need to put Bob down.” Mitchelli released Freed. MacJames got between the two men, reprimanding both of them. “The two of you are going to end this now, and I mean right now! Bob, if you don’t back off, I’m placing you on medical leave.”
“Medical leave, you’re in love with him, Angela. You don’t see what he’s getting away with. He’s out of control and you’re blinded by love.”
“That’s not true Bob and you know it.”
“Bullshit, come on Angela. If he was a real agent, he’d be under investigation.”
“Is Secretary Stuart blinded by love?” MacJames asked. “Bob, answer me, is Stuart in love with Peter? Is he upset with his on-the-job performance?”
“He’s Stuart’s pet project for God’s sake. He’s the old man’s golden boy, protégé! He’s withholding information in a criminal investigation, that’s a felony.”
“Don’t tell me the law, you’re making accusations to a Deputy Director who will stop you dead in your tracks. You have a problem in your office that’s systemic, lethal to anyone involved in this investigation. Did it ever occur to you that if you find the mole you’d solve the case, find the missing men?” Mitchelli opened his mouth to speak, but MacJames waved him away. “Peter, back off, you’ve said enough. There’s some truth in what Bob said.” Mitchelli shook his head. “Don’t pull that dumb contractor crap with me, you’re dumb like a fox.”
Mitchelli went to the plane and retrieved his bag, GPS, and camera. MacJames squared off with Freed. “Bob, get a field team on gathering evidence from that plane. Check with the Buffalo Flight Control and see if they radar tracked the flight; it had to be someplace near Olean. I’ll debrief Peter and see what I can get.”
Freed looked at MacJames. “He’s in control Angela, total control. That’s what’s driving me crazy. When we brought him onboard, we thought he was along for the ride. He was supposed to be a joke. Now we’re getting the free ride. All my experience, Christ. I feel like I know nothing.” Freed shook his head, “For all we know he could be one of them. He’s to good Angela, no rooky investigator has his instincts.”
“Do you think ordering Peter around like a rookie is going to make him a team player? He’s scared. No matter what we tell him he believes he’s on his own. And can you blame him? We don’t have great track record on this case. He’s right; someone’s telling Handly our every move. Maybe the mole is responsible for all the missing men. Remember--Peter Mitchelli is Secretary Stuart’s boy. Don’t kid yourself, Stuart stuck his neck out bringing Peter on board covering your ass, documenting additional manpower and funding to protect the Mitchellis. Another director would have hung you out to dry if things went up in flames. Stuart ordered us to find a civilian operative and he’s backed us all the way, win, lose, or die; don’t forget that!”
***
Mitchelli’s head was pounding and his mind raced. His chest heavy, and the pressure was building. He had encountered this before after Ann’s death, his heart palpitations had returned. The relentless stress was destroying his hope, pushing him to the edge of lethal submission. As he drove to the boat, the slightest noise caused him to jump, quickly jerking the steering wheel. His body shivered, his hands trembled, and his mind was on fire burning unlike any previous migraine. He squinted as he approached the boat, attempting to focus his vision. He had to get onboard his boat; it always settled his nerves. He had to be strong. He could not surrender to his weakness and take one of Dr. Rubin’s prescribed pills, even though they worked within minutes, calming and releasing his mind from its torture. He persisted; he could not be a slave to such a potent drug, yet in turn he wa
s a slave to his mind. Its never ending depression and negative thoughts blaming himself for the loss of his wife and her unfulfilled dreams ate away at him. He staggered down the dock, restraining his movements to conceal his panic. He stepped onto the boat balancing himself on the narrow gunnels while he unzipped the canvas. Don’t fall, get into your boat and shut your eyes. The lapping water against the hull, the rocking of the boat will calm you, it always has. You don’t need the vise, the crunch, those damn pills. Two more steps and you’re in!
Once on board, he gazed at the cockpit, the windshield, the instrument panel, the teak floor on the upper deck; familiar sights that calmed his mind. He had to stay active; his heart murmurs would diminish with activity. He proceeded to unzip the canvas, opening the rear of the cockpit prepping for a voyage. He set his goals small: one zipper at a time, a section of canvas rolled up and secured. Minor achievements that distracted his mind, taken in steps they achieved what he wanted: a voyage across the lake.
Mind Kill- Rise of the Marauder Page 53